Rich girls forced a pregnant janitor to her knees at an elite academy—until the mafia boss she thought was dead crashed through the gates and saw her on the floor.

Late that night, the grand penthouse was finally quiet.

The capos had departed, the tactical guards were stationed outside the perimeter, and the soft amber lights of the city skyline filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

Maren stood near the balcony railing, a soft cashmere shawl wrapped over her shoulders, holding a mug of warm chamomile tea. She looked down at the glittering sprawl of Boston—the river where Damien had nearly died, the distant hill where Briarwell Academy stood, and the towering glass buildings that held the destinies of millions.

A pair of strong, warm arms slipped around her waist from behind.

Damien rested his chin against the top of her head, pulling her back against his broad chest. His hands gently flattened over her belly, fingers interlocked over the curve that carried his bloodline.

"You should be resting," he whispered against her hair.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "Every time I close my eyes, I keep thinking I'm going to wake up in that damp basement apartment, hearing the alarm go off at four in the morning to catch the bus to the academy."

"That life is gone, Maren," he said, turning her gently within his embrace so he could look down into her eyes. "I burned it down. It will never touch you again."

"I know," she murmured, resting her hands on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart beneath his dress shirt. "Damien... what happens now? You destroyed the Kensingtons. The Romanos are running. But this world... it's dangerous. What if they come back? What if they target her?"

Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

He didn't kneel. He didn't need to perform for an audience. He simply popped the box open, revealing a flawless, seven-carat cushion-cut diamond flanked by twin baguettes, glittering brilliantly against black velvet.

"They won't come back," Damien said, his voice thick with an intensity that brooked no argument. "Because by the time our daughter takes her first breath, there won't be a single enemy left alive within five hundred miles of this city. Marry me, Maren. Let me give you my name, my empire, and my life."

Maren stared at the ring, then looked up into the eyes of the man who had torn down a multi-million-dollar dynasty just to wipe a tear from her cheek.

"Yes," she whispered, a radiant smile breaking across her face. "A thousand times, yes."

Damien slid the heavy ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. He pulled her into him, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, fierce, desperate kiss that tasted of reclaimed time, absolute devotion, and the promise of a future forged in iron.

For a moment, the world was completely still.

They were safe. They were together. The nightmare had ended.